Secret hoard
by NivalVixen2
Summary: COMPLETE! Every dragon needs a hoard; without one, they will die. Stiles' friends are worried that he doesn't have a hoard and stage an intervention. Derek is a werewolf living in the local village and is curious to know more about the dragons living in the mountains. He just never expected one to fall from the sky. Dragon!Stiles. Sterek, Berica, Jydia, Scallisaac.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf.

 _Read on, oh faithful ones_...

...

Stiles is perfectly fine, thank you very much. Just because he doesn't hoard gold or jewels like Lydia, or mirrors like Jackson, or Isaac with his scarves, or Allison and her arrows from every misguided attempt on her life by the humans, or Scott with his animals (he has separate caves in his own mountain filled with different types of animals; the last time Stiles was there, he was positive that he saw a kitten playing with one of Isaac's scarves, but no one else knows that he knows), or Erica, who hoards _pillows_ of all things... but, whatever, Erica isn't the one getting an intervention, Stiles is.

"We're concerned for you, Stiles," Scott says, eyes wide in obvious concern, even as he uses one large clawed hand to stop a curious puppy from running off too far.

"You were concerned about me last year, too. Nothing's changed, and I'm perfectly fine! I mean it, I'm fine, okay? Nothing to worry about or be concerned over, because I am totally fine! Seriously, absolutely fine."

"We'd believe you more if you hadn't just said the word 'fine' more than three times," Allison points out.

"You _need_ a hoard, Stiles. You'll _die_ without one. How about coins? I have some to get you started," Lydia offers, brass coins offered in her clawed hand.

That's what tips Stiles over the edge because Lydia offering him some of her own hoard is like a human taking a bullet for another human. Except _worse_ , because they're dragons and dragons aren't exactly known for their ability to share. In fact, no dragon in the history of dragons has ever shared anything of theirs _ever_. Stiles doesn't even think he's exaggerating with that.

"No! I don't want your coins, or anything else any of you have brought for me, okay? I already have a hoard!"

The arguments that had started while he was mid-sentence stopped at his revelation, and all of them stare at him. Stiles notices that Lydia seems relieved and she immediately tucks her coins back under her scales.

" _You_ have a hoard?" Jackson asks, the disbelief equal to the scorn in his voice. Lydia hisses at him, more smoke than fire, and Jackson settles down again reluctantly.

"I have a hoard, I promise I do, but I can't tell you more than that, okay?"

"Is it something weird?" Isaac asks promptly.

"Is it sex toys?" Erica asks, grinning.

Stiles rolls his eyes. Buy _one_ damn dildo for yourself as a birthday present, forget what you ordered, open it in front of your friends at your birthday party, and they'll _never_ let you live it down.

"No, Erica, it's not sex toys. Otherwise I'd have them all on display and there'd be dildos and vibrators all over my cave," Stiles deadpans.

Erica snorts a laugh and almost sets Stiles brand new cave rug on fire.

"Fine. If you say you have a hoard, then you have a hoard. I have to go. I stole a few goats from the humans, so they should be retaliating soon," Allison says. "What? I need more arrows."

No one argues with her logic, and Stiles watches as his friends fly off. Scott, Isaac and Allison are all heading in the same direction, Stiles notices. They're so damn obvious, he thinks with a huff of laughter, a smoke ring forming. He's almost positive he hears Erica say something about Plan B, but Stiles is late to meet his father, and he can't delay any more than he already has.

...

Heading into the village takes longer on foot than it does flying, but Stiles doesn't want to scare the villagers, especially not so soon after Allison's goat stealing. His human guise is skinnier than he'd like, especially considering the bulk his dragon usually carries, and while he's better at holding this form than most of his friends (Scott, mostly; he _hates_ his human form), Stiles can never seem to get rid of the marks that a few of his bolder scales leave behind. The most prominent ones look like moles dotting along his face, but Stiles doesn't think they look too bad. At least, no one's looked at him and screamed 'dragon!' before running and/or trying to kill him.

Stiles passes several armed guards that are looking at maps and heading up towards the mountain. Allison would be pleased to see the amount of arrows they're bringing for her.

"There you are, Stiles; I thought you weren't going to show up," John says with a broad smile.

"Hey, Dad. Sorry to keep you wait- _what_ is that on your plate?" Stiles asks, glaring at the strips of bacon.

"Food," John says, trying not to look guilty.

"Cora knows not to let you eat that! Where is she, anyway?" Stiles mutters, looking around for the brunette.

"She's got the day off, apparently. Her brother's in the kitchen," John offers as an alternative, obviously hoping that Stiles will march straight there without taking the plate of bacon with him.

 _No such luck, old man_ , Stiles thinks to himself, taking the plate before John can take another bite.

He sneaks a strip of bacon for himself before he walks into the kitchen and looks for Cora's brother. Then Stiles blushes as red as Lydia's scales because he _knows_ that human.

"Customers aren't meant to be back here," the man calls out, wiping his flour-covered hands off on a towel as he walks around the kitchen to where Stiles is standing, still holding the plate. "Is there something wrong with the bacon?"

 _Bacon? Oh, right, the food_.

"My father has high cholesterol and shouldn't be eating bacon. Cora makes sure that he doesn't get any, even if he orders it, and I'd appreciate if you could do the same when you're here."

The man looks between the plate and Stiles' face, and if Stiles wasn't watching him so closely, he'd almost miss the delicate sniff and widening nostrils. The man frowns at him.

"What are you?"

That almost startles Stiles enough to drop the plate. He catches himself in time and pretends he'd misheard the man's question.

"I'm Stiles. Who're you?"

"Derek," the man replies slowly, hands clenched by his sides as his eyes flash blue briefly.

Stiles knows what Cora is, what the whole Hale family is in fact, and he briefly wonders if it would be easier to just come clean about the whole 'we're both magical beings, surprise!' thing, but Stiles can't bring himself to say the words. Not about something like this. Humans might have accepted the fact that they could co-exist with werewolves, but other magical creatures weren't quite so lucky. He still has the scar under one of his scales to prove it.

"Nice to meet you, Derek. Please don't give my father bacon again. He can have egg whites and multigrain toast with as little butter as possible, instead. I've already organised it with Cora to make sure his table doesn't have any hot sauce, too."

"Right. I'll... I guess I can make sure to do that, if his health is your concern."

"Great, thanks."

Derek nods briefly, still looking at Stiles in confusion, and there's a moment of somewhat awkward silence.

"Well, I'd better get back. Oh, and can you not tell my dad what I've done, if you don't mind? He's already annoyed at me for not visiting enough as it is," Stiles adds with a grin.

Derek nods again. "It'll be our secret, I promise."

Stiles pales and then blushes in such quick succession that it alarms even himself. He rushes out of the kitchen before Derek can ask anything or he can embarrass himself more, and Stiles slides into the booth across from his father, trying to remember how to breathe without setting this whole place on fire.

"Son? Everything all right?" John asks, looking worried at Stiles' lack of composure and at the fact that he can see faint scales on his cheeks instead of moles. "Stiles, look at me," he says, voice firm and commanding; it's the voice of a Sheriff, a man used to telling people what to do and having those people _listen_.

Stiles looks up at his father's voice, eyes wide and his heart still hammering away in his chest. Some small part of him is glad that they have a booth in the back of the small restaurant, and no one will see him unless they get too close, and Stiles knows that his father won't allow that to happen.

"Stiles, breathe properly. In and out, go on. Good, good," John coaxes, his hand covering Stiles' one on the table and squeezing gently, and not just to hide the claws he's sporting.

Stiles does as his father says, breathing in and out slowly and his scales turn back to moles and claws back to fingers.

"Good, that's my boy. Now, I think that's quite enough excitement for one day, don't you?" John murmurs, smiling at him.

"Sorry, Dad, I... I didn't handle that well."

"It's all right, son. We got through it, just like we always do. Now, you head on home, and I'll finish up here, okay? We'll catch up next week; you just take care of yourself."

Stiles knows an out when he's given one, and since he can still feel his pulse running above-normal, he just nods in thanks.

"See you next week, Dad," Stiles says, squeezing his dad's hand lightly before leaving the booth. He can feel eyes watching him as he leaves, but he can't bring himself to turn back, not when he has such a thin grasp on his control.

Stiles makes it to the forest before he lets himself collapse completely, and his face finally gives way to scales, his fingers turn to claws, his chest expanding to a scaled torso and ruining his shirt, his legs and feet shredding his jeans, and his tail extending as he shifts back to his dragon form. It's dangerous to turn so close to town, but he can't hold it in any longer.

Stiles is thankful for his ability to camouflage, and knows that despite his anxiety attack, he'll still be able to use that without a problem. Using camouflage is the first most important thing that any youngling is taught, and even giant dicks like Scott's father had taught that to his son before he'd tried to eat the villagers and been run out of town. Stiles' mother had taught him camouflage in a way that was different to others, probably because she was losing her sense of self already by that time, but somehow, Stiles understands it and is better at using it for longer stretches of time than any of his friends. Even Allison can't stay in camouflage as long as Stiles can, and she was taught by her parents who are professional dragon trainers in their spare time.

Stiles scrambles up a tree with delicate claws, trying not to mark the trunk and leave obvious gouges or scratches behind, and when he's at the very top, swaying slightly in the breeze, Stiles camouflages himself and spreads his wings open to their full span. It feels amazing, just as it always does, with his body in the air, far more graceful than he could ever be on land as he spins and dips and weaves along with the warm currents, his tail curling in the warm wind, and he flies towards his mountain. Stiles swears that he can still feel a gaze following him, despite the camouflage. He races home just that little bit faster.

...

"Are you positive that you have a hoard, Stiles?" Allison asks, when he's visiting her later that week to see the new arrows she's gained.

Stiles knows better than to touch the arrows that are out on display; Allison is as possessive of her new haul as any of the others would be with their own hoards, and if he dares try to touch them, he'll probably lose a few scales for his trouble.

"Positive," Stiles replies, admiring one of the metal arrows as it reflects sunshine off the cave walls.

"And you won't tell us what it is?" Allison asks.

Stiles shakes his head. "It hasn't been an issue for the last forty years, why're you all asking about it now?"

"Because everyone knows what happens to dragons if they don't get a hoard in their first hundred years. No one wants to lose you like..."

"Like my mum; yeah, I know. But I promise I have a hoard, okay?"

Allison sighs, a soft cloud of smoke forming, and curls her tail around her feet lazily. "All right. I'll tell the others to leave you alone. But if we see anything like hoardless symptoms, we're going to force a hoard on you, even if you don't like it, understood?"

Stiles hums, a fireball forming in his throat at the action. He lets it burn out while he's thinking of a reply. "That depends on the kind of hoard, really. What were you thinking?"

"I was going to find you as many swords as possible," Allison says with a grin.

"Swords? Ehh, not really my thing."

"I was thinking balls of yarn," Isaac offers from his place in the corner, where he's perched delicately atop some of his favourite scarves.

"Why aren't you out with Scott?"

"Because Scott's gone to get another goat for his collection, and he'd bite my claws off if I tried to help," Isaac replies.

Stiles gives an understanding nod at that, and he knows better than to ask why Isaac is even at Allison's cave in the first place. Everyone knows that Isaac's cave was demolished with the village's expansion the year before. It had been a hidden cave that the villagers hadn't even known about until the golden dragon had burst forth from the rubble, scarves tucked into every scale before he camouflaged himself and flew across the forest to Scott's mountain. He's spent most of his time at Scott's since it's the largest mountain, and even has his own cave on the edge of the mountain. Stiles knows that Isaac can't go too far into any of their caves, the tight space too much for him to handle.

"He's not getting another female goat, is he?" Stiles asks, remembering what had happened last time.

"He's trying for a male. He wants baby goats. It doesn't help that he gets confused by the goat's beards and can never tell their genders apart," Allison says, grinning.

"Please tell me that he's using his camouflage this time," Stiles groans.

Isaac gives a sort of shrug, the long scarf woven around his neck moving with his action. Stiles sighs and shakes his head.

"I'd better get back. It's a lovely loot, Allison. I'm happy for you."

"So am I," Allison says, grinning with a toothy smile that's almost as terrifying as her mother's.

"Call for me if Scott's been chased again. I'll lure them away."

Allison and Isaac both thank him and say their farewells, and Stiles uses his camouflage to head back home.

...

Stiles doesn't know what Allison said to the others, but it obviously didn't work.

"You've seen our hoards, why can't we see yours?" Jackson demands, repositioning one of his mirrors so that his green scales reflect off the cavern's walls prettily.

"What's this, I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours?" Stiles sneers.

"Boys, settle down or I'll send you to opposite ends of the cave!" Lydia snaps.

She sits up from her hoard, golden coins and jewels falling from her scales as she shakes herself out slightly, annoyed at the interruption of her hoard adoration. Stiles watches as she scoops a golden goblet away from whatever invisible line she and Jackson have going in their cave, and sets it down gently beside a large wooden crate that's overflowing with gold and other valuable trinkets.

While Scott might have the largest mountain, Jackson and Lydia's cave certainly looks just as big. Stiles maintains that it's because of all of the mirrors that cover Jackson's side of the cave, making it seem even larger than his inflated ego.

"Sorry, Lyds. I'm not up for _another_ interrogation, so unless you've invited me over for a reason other than my hoard, I'd like to go now," Stiles mutters.

"I invited you over to ask if you wanted more clothes. You're still visiting your father in the village, I presume?" Lydia asks, lifting a wing so a bundle of clothes fall out to the ground.

"Yeah, I am. Where'd you get this lot?" Stiles asks, looking through the bundle of clothes with a careful claw.

Some of it's too big for him, other items are too small, but a few shirts will probably fit. He snatches up a blue and orange one that he likes, tempted to turn just so he can wear it now. He doesn't though, knowing how Jackson gets when others turn in his (Lydia's) cave.

"Oh, here and there," she replies airily.

"You didn't kill them, did you?"

"Of course not; I'm not an idiot. They were camping too close to my territory, so I just ... scared them a little," Lydia says.

Stiles hums in response, not quite believing her, but there's no blood on the clothes, so that's a bonus. He holds a pair of jeans up delicately between his claws, trying to determine if they'll fit him or not.

"So, what's your hoard?" Jackson asks, yellow eyes narrowed.

Stiles gives a short roar, enough to rattle the mirrors, but not enough to break them because, like Lydia, he's not an idiot. While Jackson's busy making sure his precious and fragile hoard is safe, Stiles gathers up the few clothes he likes, and leaves without a word of goodbye. Lydia will understand, and Jackson's a dick so he doesn't deserve it anyway. Besides, his roar was enough to echo through some of the forest, so if there's any pesky campers nearby, they'll be scared away as an added bonus, and that will earn Lydia's forgiveness eventually.

...

"Hey, is that a new shirt?" John asks when Stiles slides into the booth across from him, blue and orange striped shirt fitting snugly across his chest.

Stiles nods briefly, eyes scanning the restaurant to see if Derek's there again. Cora grins as she sets two cups of coffee down in front of them.

"Looking for someone, Stiles?"

"No," he lies quickly.

"Uh-huh. I'll get your orders going," Cora says, leaving without needing to write a thing down.

Stiles supposes three years of ordering the same thing every week makes that pretty simple.

"Hey, Derek! He's here!" Cora calls, voice just loud enough to be heard over the noise of the coffee machine, and the general chatter of people waiting for their coffees.

Well, her voice was loud enough for Stiles to hear at least. Dragons have better senses than humans, but he's still not sure if they're better than a werewolf's senses. He can't exactly ask Cora about it, since she doesn't know that he knows what she is. Then her words filter in properly, and Stiles wonders who she's talking about. He blushes furiously when he sees Derek come out of the kitchen to look straight at their booth.

"Something you need to tell me, son?" John asks pointedly, obviously trying not to laugh.

"No. Nothing. Nothing at all," Stiles replies quickly.

"Uh huh. I'll believe that when I don't see you blush as bright as a tomato at the appearance of someone. A fine young someone, if I may say so."

"You know Derek?"

John looks triumphant, and Stiles realises too late just what he's done. He smacks his head on the table and almost wishes that those hunters had been successful in killing him four years ago.

"So it is Derek then, not Cora. I had wondered, but thanks for the confirmation, son."

Stiles still has his head on the dining table when their breakfast is served, and he refuses to look up because he knows that both Cora and his father will have the same satisfied smug expressions on their faces.

"Stiles, put your head up and say thank you."

Stiles reluctantly does so because he doesn't want to add rude to his list of accomplishments today, and gets out a 'thank' before he realises that Derek's the one serving their breakfast, not Cora.

"Y'know what, I might go see if Cora can get me some hot sauce for these egg whites. You'll stay with Stiles, won't you, son?" the Sheriff says to Derek, not at all subtle as he slides out of the booth and takes his plate up to the counter.

"Uh. I can go, if you like?" Derek offers.

"No. It's fine. If you leave, then he'll never stop asking questions. I mean, if you don't mind sitting with me, that is?" Stiles adds quickly, realising he has no idea what Derek's thoughts are on this whole thing.

Derek sits in the Sheriff's vacant seat and smiles at him, a smile so bright that it steals Stiles' breath away for a moment. It's like looking into the sun, or seeing all of Lydia's treasure reflecting brightly in Jackson's mirrors.

"Do you like curly fries?" Stiles asks curiously.

"Yeah, I do," Derek replies.

Stiles bites his lip, looks at his plate of curly fries, then over to the counter where his father and Cora are obviously pretending not to be eavesdropping. He takes a deep breath, and Stiles does something that he's never done in his whole life: moves his plate to the middle of the table to share his food.

Derek seems surprised, but takes a curly fry with a smile and eats it quickly. His moment of surprise is nothing compared to the Sheriff's: he drops his mug of coffee and knocks his plate clean off the counter in the same instant, both smashing on the floor in hundreds of thousands of pieces of ceramic and bits of egg and toast.

Cora swears under her breath and rushes around to clean it up. Derek looks apologetic as he stands and moves to help her. Stiles can only sit there, seeing in his peripheral vision that his father is still staring at him in shock, and neither of them can move. A customer walks in the door, and that's the catalyst for Stiles, who runs out of the restaurant as fast as he had the week before.

 _Fuck, this is bad_.

...

The only reason Stiles moves in the next five days is because it's the end of the month, and the end of the month brings a full moon. He doesn't know whether he should go this time, but it's like the moon has a hold over him as it does the werewolves, and he _has_ to leave.

Stiles ensures that his camouflage is settled over him firmly before he leaps out of his cave, his wings expanding and catching him before he plummeted down to the earth. The thermals are warm under his wings, tickling under his scales, and Stiles resists the urge to laugh with joy. He has to stay silent, just as he always does, and he listens out carefully for the familiar sounds of howls.

He hears a werewolf's howl up ahead, and flies towards it, settling carefully into the treetops as he sees the werewolves gathered in the forest clearing. There's a few wolves lounging about, some pacing or play fighting, others are still in their human form, and Stiles is quiet as he watches them go about their business. A few are still missing, he realises, which is why the run hasn't begun yet.

Cora's over in the corner, growling at Laura and pouncing. Laura moves aside nimbly, and Cora smacks into Peter instead, who growls at her playfully. Talia is sitting still atop her flat rock, a wolf with red eyes staring up at the full moon, and Frank is dozing in front of her rock serenely, ear twitching every now and then. Deucalion is playing tag with his pack between the trees, a way to warm up before the real run begins. Kali and her pack are still in their human forms, waiting patiently; and Ennis is pacing impatiently. He's gained two new pack members, Stiles notes, seeing the two blonde twins laughing with one of the Hale cousins, Malia. Nearly everyone is there. It's just Derek that's missing.

"I don't think he's coming, mum," Laura calls.

"Who?" Derek asks, stepping out from between the trees and grinning over at his older sister.

"Ugh, you dork. Does that mean we can run now?"

Talia waits a moment, something between her and the moon that no one else can understand, not even the other Alphas, then without a word of warning, she leaps off her rock and starts running into the forest, her howl long and echoing behind her. Cora scrambles to her feet, Frank nudging her along quickly, Peter and Laura yapping and racing each other. Deucalion howls and his pack is after them in a moment. Kali's pack is next, then Ennis', and eventually, it's just Derek standing in the clearing. He has his eyes closed, sniffing at the scents in the wind, and he strips out of his outfit, letting the material drop in a heap on the forest floor.

Stiles moves down the tree trunk a little more, watching as Derek shifts and changes, his body shrinking and stretching in a space of seconds. The transition from human to wolf is probably as disgusting as human to dragon, but Stiles is far from disgusted. Derek has the smoothest transition of all of his family, bar Talia herself.

Stiles shifts a little on the tree, his claws digging in to keep him upright, but he must have chosen a moss-covered tree because his claws slip instead, and he almost falls out of the tree entirely. Derek hears the noise, head snapping towards Stiles' position, and Stiles shoots out of the tree quickly, hissing in pain as his scales catch on the branches. He uses a thermal current to stay where he is in mid-air, hoping that Derek won't hear his wings or heartbeat.

The wolf darts into the trees, then returns to the centre of the clearing about ten seconds later, and Stiles can see that there's one of his scales in Derek's mouth. _Shit, shit, shit_. After camouflage, losing scales is the next most important thing a dragon learns about. The main lesson: do not lose your scales. _Fuck_. Now that he's aware of having lost a scale, Stiles can feel the pain from where it tore out of him, and he looks back to his tail to see a gaping hole where his scale should be, and blood congealing. He's... he's not so good with ... _blood_.

 _If Jackson finds out about this, he'll never let me live it down_ , Stiles thinks, even as he faints in mid-air.

...

Stiles wakes up in a cave. It's not his cave, and it's not any of the caves in the mountain because he knows those better than he knows his own scales. This cave is underground, damp, and far too small for a dragon of his size. He can see the grey sunlight filtering in between the trees, and realises that it's daylight again, and he's missed the werewolves' run. Stiles tries to move slowly, but he can barely move his wings, let alone stretch out his scales for his daily morning exercise.

Thinking of his scales reminds Stiles of what had happened, and he looks behind to where his tail is aching in pain. There's a bandage around his tail, a small spot of blood staining the bandage, but he can feel his scale back in place. It will take two or three days for it to attach and heal properly, and with the bandage, he knows he won't be able to fly away. Stiles is _grounded_. He feels sick at the thought, groaning as fire coils in his stomach tightly.

"Hey, it's all right. I'm not going to hurt you."

Stiles goes still because he knows that voice. He turns his head the best he can in the small space, and looks directly at Derek, who has his hands raised in a gesture of peace or reassurance or something like that.

"I know you won't," Stiles replies, because _duh_ , he's not dead.

Derek seems surprised at the confidence in his voice, but lowers his hands. "I... I tried to put your scale back in place. I'm not sure if it's all right, but I tried my best."

"It will heal," Stiles says, wincing at how abrupt he sounds. "Thank you, Derek."

The werewolf blinks, then frowns. "How'd you know my name?"

Stiles' jaw shuts tight and he doesn't dare answer.

"All right then, that's fine too," Derek mutters, a little sarcastically. "Do you need... something? Food or something to drink?"

Stiles is craving curly fries, actually, but he knows that if he shifts back to his human form, he'll probably undo all of Derek's hard work with the bandage, and he'll have lost a toe or his whole foot or something. He could, of course, eat curly fries as a dragon, but he knows it would require a metric ton of curly fries to fill his stomach, and that's not fair to Derek.

"I'm fine."

"All right. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?" Derek asks, sounding a bit like a puppy in his eagerness. And Stiles should know, because he's had to puppy-sit for Scott before.

"You've come to the wrong dragon to ask questions," Stiles mutters, not quite under his breath because a) werewolf hearing, and b) doing anything under his breath doesn't quite work when he's the size of three houses and his vocal chords aren't made for that kind of thing.

"What do you mean by that?" Derek asks, frowning again in confusion.

Stiles doesn't answer. Instead, he closes his eyes, and pretends to fall asleep. The trick used to work on his parents when he was young, so maybe it will work now. Stiles is still in a lot of pain, despite the fact that he has all of his scales again, and he ends up falling asleep anyway.

...

When Stiles wakes up again, he stays still and silent, and listens as Derek makes up a makeshift camp for himself, talking away as if he thinks Stiles is listening or will answer his questions.

"And are water dragons real? Or is that just a plot made up by mermaids? I bet it's made up; mermaids are sneaky tricksters," Derek mutters to himself.

Stiles wants to laugh, but that will make it far too obvious that he's awake, and then Derek will really start asking questions. Instead, Stiles closes his eyes again and forces himself to go to sleep. It's difficult without being close to sunlight or warmth, but his body does hibernate every winter, so Stiles pretends that it's winter again. He's lulled to sleep by the sound of Derek's voice, still talking to himself and asking questions that Stiles can never answer.

The next time Stiles wakes, it's night time and he can hear Derek's teeth chattering in the cold night air. Werewolves aren't as impervious to the cold as everyone believes, and Stiles can see a small campfire that Derek has set up nearby. It's down to embers, so he's not surprised that Derek's shivering. Stiles growls soft in his throat, a fireball starting, and then he coughs loudly, startling Derek awake.

"W-what's wrong?" Derek asks, blinking his way awake.

Stiles is still coughing, hacking, and his whole torso heaving, but eventually, he spits out a small rock that's covered in a substance that he really doesn't want to think about for too long.

"What's that?" Derek asks.

Stiles doesn't answer, and instead, he uses a claw to place the small wet rock into the pile of firewood embers. As soon as the rock catches light, a fire starts blazing away, flames steady and controlled, even in the cold night air.

"What... How... You..." Derek stares between the fire and Stiles, mouth gaping like a fish.

"Go to sleep, Derek," Stiles says finally, closing his eyes once more.

He can practically _hear_ Derek still staring, but Stiles ignores it until Derek goes back to sleep again, and he does the same soon after.

...

In the morning, the fire is still going steady, and Stiles wakes up to find that he's alone. He tries to move his tail, but it's still aching and bandaged. The scale has almost completely reattached now, he can feel it rejoining muscles and bones where necessary, but it's still too tender to fly.

Stiles breathes in deeply, drawing the flames away from the fire, and when there's nothing but ash and sticks of charcoal left, Stiles takes his rock and swallows it again carefully.

He hears a sound outside the cave, and he shrinks back as far as he can. Stiles relaxes when it's Derek at the entrance of the cave, but tenses up again almost immediately when he sees that he's not alone. Boyd is with him, one of the newer Hale pack members, and Stiles doesn't know what to think. He hasn't seen enough of Boyd to make a decision about him, but Derek puts his hands up again in that peaceful gesture sign, and stands between Stiles and Boyd.

"This is my friend Boyd. He's going to help me move you out of here. The damp probably isn't doing you any good, and I don't want your tail to get infected."

"I can walk out of here fine, Derek," Stiles says, rolling his eyes.

"Wait, you can do that?" Derek asks in surprise. "Even with your wings?"

"Walk? Yeah, birds can walk too, even with their wings. It's not hard."

To prove it, Stiles stands as much as the cave's space will allow, and he makes his way out into the forest. (He does not waddle, thank you very much.) He stops just outside of the cave's entrance because it's exhausting moving this much mass when he's already in pain, and then both Derek and Boyd are in front of him, their hands gentle on his scales before he can stop them. Stiles watches in morbid fascination as black lines trek their way up both men's arms. Boyd's gritting his teeth and Derek's looking as though someone's pulled his fangs out with a pair of pliers.

"What are you doing? Stop it, stop!" Stiles shouts when he realises that they're in pain and he's ... well, somehow, he's _not_.

There's a short roar, one he recognises far too well, and before he can say or do anything, there's a crash in the trees, and Erica's practically crash-landed in the forest, a few metres away from them.

"LET HIM GO!" she roars, building up a fireball.

"Erica, wait, no!" Stiles calls out, a split second too late, and there's a fireball being launched directly at them.

Stiles extends his wings for the first time in days, his whole body screaming in pain at the action, and covers both Boyd and Derek, protecting them from the flames. The fire washes over him harmlessly, and he shakes out his wings with a groan.

"Stiles? What's going on? They're... They were hurting you," Erica says, confused.

"They were trying to heal me. I was telling them to stop because it was hurting them instead."

Erica seems confused, but looks between the two men and Stiles, and eventually nods. "All right. What happened to you? We've been looking for you everywhere. Scott even went to see your father in the village."

"Really? Scott hates ... visiting my dad," Stiles deflects, quite nicely too, if he does say so himself.

Erica gets the hint, thankfully. "Yeah. Your dad said he hadn't seen you for a few days; we were worried about you, Stiles."

"Wait... Your name is Stiles?" Derek asks suspiciously, and Stiles swears he can see the cogs working over in his head.

 _Shit_.

Despite the pain and tenderness of his torn scale, Stiles forces himself to get in the air. He camouflages himself and flies to his mountain, hoping that Erica's right behind him. She is, thankfully, and even better, she doesn't ask any questions while they're flying. The bandage flies off at some point, but his scale stays on, and that's all that matters to Stiles, even if he's in even more pain by the time he lands.

"Are you going to explain what the hell that was?" Erica demands as soon as they've landed in Stiles' cave.

He really wishes that she hadn't followed him home. All he wants is his hoard, and to curl up in his fire pit at the other end of his cave, and just pretend the last week hasn't happened.

"Leave it alone, Erica."

"No! We were all out looking for you for _three damn days_ , Stiles! We thought you... We thought you'd been caught by hunters again, that they'd done worse than scar you this time," Erica says, her voice breaking.

Stiles feels like shit, his head hung low, and he slowly makes his way over, resting his head on Erica's shoulder and drawing his wings close around her.

"I'm all right, okay? I'm in pain, my tail would probably kill me if it was sentient, but I'm all right."

Erica continues to sob, and Stiles sighs softly, letting tendrils of flames float down along her back to warm and reassure her all at once. It works, slowly, but eventually, Erica's curled up asleep.

Stiles makes his way to the edge of his cave and lets out a soft noise that grows in ambience until Stiles, his cave, the mountain, and the forest itself all seems to be vibrating and waiting on that single note. Then, when it's built up completely, Stiles lets it go, watching as the sound vibrations travel and call to the others. A simple call, like one made when they're in danger, doesn't take as long as Stiles' call, so he knows that the others will recognise that he's safe just from the echo of the sound alone. Still, they all make their way to his cave just the same.

Isaac arrives first and practically barrels into Stiles, wrapped around him and at least three of his scarves falling out of his scales.

"I'm all right now. I just need to rest, I promise," Stiles says solemnly, letting tendrils of his fire coalesce over Isaac's trembling form.

By the time Isaac is settled in beside Erica, Scott and Lydia have shown up. Lydia looks pissed off, Scott looks relieved, but they both hug him firmly, and let him cover them in his flames as well. Jackson's next, golden scales shivering a testament to just how far and fast he'd flown to get back. Stiles is still settling him when Allison arrives, and she barely waits for Jackson to curl up before she's crowded up against Stiles and letting him do the same, his fire gentle over her purple scales.

"Sorry for making you all worry," Stiles murmurs, curling in front of them all, his wings stretched to cover his six friends.

...

The next day, the others fuss over Stiles and double-check that his scale will set properly, Lydia muttering about flying with a half-set scale under her breath.

"You should be fine," Scott says, probably the best of them with this kind of thing, considering the amount of animals he hoards and looks after.

"Good to know. Thanks again for looking out for me," Stiles says to all of them.

"Doesn't mean I like you, Stiles," Jackson mutters, but Stiles knows he's lying.

"Good, I don't like you either. Now, all of you go. You've got your hoards to tend to."

"And your father's coming," Scott says, already halfway out of the cave and his escape.

" _What?!_ "

"He was worried when we couldn't find you, and he said that he'd come here himself to make sure you were all right," Scott says, wincing.

"He can't climb up here! You know he can't; he's human and too old to go rock climbing. Did he say which trail he'd be using? I have to go get him," Stiles mutters.

"Oh, no you don't. Not with your tail still healing. I'll get him," Erica says, turning to Scott expectantly.

"He's on the Apex Trail," Scott says, flying out of the cave before Stiles' fireball can hit him.

"Just because the Apex Trail is the fastest way, doesn't make it the easiest! He's going to kill himself on that trail. The man's going on 65!" Stiles calls out after Scott.

"It's got steep inclines on the mountain face, not very practical for landing. He might have changed his mind and decided on the Marshmallow Trail instead; that one's easier," Lydia adds.

Stiles sighs heavily. "No. The Marshmallow Trail takes a day and a half; he'd want to get here sooner rather than later. He'd either do the Apex Trail or the Explorer Trail. Explorer stops short, but he's stubborn enough to climb it."

"We'll check," Lydia offers, guiding Jackson to the edge of the cave.

"I'm sure he's fine, Stiles. Your father's smart for a human," Isaac says reasonably.

"Yeah, but he's where I get my stubbornness from," Stiles mutters.

"Oh. In that case, I'd better help the others look."

Isaac leaves a second later, not even close to joking.

Stiles waits impatiently, his tail aching and his body thrumming restlessly. He hates feeling useless. Stiles can't even go to his hoard while he's like this, too strung out and worried, and he paces restlessly at the edge of his cave.

...

It's the smell that catches Stiles' attention first. He hasn't eaten in days, and it's only when he smells curly fries that he realises just how hungry he actually is. His father brought him curly fries, so obviously, he's the best dad in the world, no matter that he's climbing a damn mountain at the age of 63.

Only, as the smell gets closer, Stiles realises that there's other smells too, and they're not ones belonging just to his father. He wants to let out a shrill sound, to warn the others of danger, but then he realises he recognises the other scent. _Derek_.

Stiles is caught, torn between wanting to fly away again or wanting to stay and defend his home. If Derek's come to try to hurt him, to use his father as bait, or to bribe him with curly fries, then ... Stiles will do what he has to do to protect his father, his hoard, and his cave.

" - told him we couldn't fly, so of course, he had to prove me wrong. His mother was so pleased."

John doesn't sound like he's been harmed, and Stiles peers over the edge of his cave ledge to try to see where they're coming from.

"She was the loveliest dragon I'd ever seen. White scales with tints of blue, and when she flew," John sighs wistfully. "It was like seeing a perfect white cloud floating right there in front of me."

Stiles' heart clenches at the memory, his mother's laughter in the wind as she flew high above him, demonstrating how to camouflage herself with the world itself. He'd been so young, too young to realise that humans weren't meant to be able to fly. He'd just wanted to be closer to his mama, and so he'd told his Dad that he was going to fly, shed his human form with barely a cry of pain and flapped his little wings as hard as he could. Oh, his father had stared in amazement and his mother had laughed even more, and she'd whispered her praise and love and adoration for him even as she helped him fly up into the air with her, his wings still not yet formed and too weak to lift Stiles very high.

He moves back into his cave, moves the rug and chairs closer to his fireplace, and blows a stream of flames at the small rocks, all pebbles similar to the fire rock in his throat. By the time his father and Derek arrive, the cave is warm enough that they don't need their beanies, gloves, or outer jackets.

"You heard us coming?" John asks, grinning as he heads over to Stiles' dragon form and hugs his front leg firmly.

"A bit hard not to, considering the acoustics on this mountain. Sorry I can't change back right now, I'm still healing after losing a scale," Stiles says, looking back to his tail.

"I heard something about that. Explains why you were missing for the last three days," John murmurs, looking over to Derek, who's still standing in the entrance. "You'd best bring that bag over before Stiles eats it, and you along with it," he says with a chuckle.

"Not funny, Dad. Do you know how bad the dad jokes are when you're a dragon? Like, seriously, seriously bad," Stiles mutters in Derek's general direction.

"Probably just as bad as my dad's werewolf jokes," Derek admits with a slight grin, moving further into the cave and closer to the fire.

"Does he tell you to brush your face?" John asks brightly.

"Every morning," Derek groans.

A short and sharp trilling sound fills the cave a few seconds later, John and Derek covering their ears at the noise. Stiles spreads his wings the best he can to shield them from it. Erica's telling him that she can't find his father anywhere on the Apex Trail, and another response from Lydia says the same about the Explorer Trail. Stiles sends out a reply telling them that his father's arrived with Derek, a local werewolf, and for them to head home.

"What was that?" Derek asks, slowly lowering his hands.

John stifles a laugh at his question. "You're asking the wrong dragon about that, son."

"That's what he said! But I still don't understand what either of you mean by it," Derek mutters, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"I'd like to know, too."

"Erica, _what_ are you doing here? And the rest of you, too. Don't think I can't feel you clinging to my damn mountain like bats," Stiles calls out.

"Let them in, Stiles. There's more than enough room for all of us," John points out.

"So not the point, Dad," Stiles mutters.

"I'm here because I found this one following Derek and your dad," Erica says, setting Boyd down carefully with her claws.

Derek seems surprised at his friend's appearance, but Boyd just shrugs. "I wanted to know what was going on."

Erica shifts slowly, accepting the long shirt that Stiles hands to her, pulling it over her naked body without bothering to turn away from the others. Nudity is only taboo to humans, and none of them really understand why, but the first time Erica had gone into the village twenty years ago, she'd been arrested for indecent exposure. (She'd been livid; _every part of me is decent, whether or not it's exposed!_ )

Isaac and Scott come in next, changing to their human forms despite the fact that Stiles knows how much Scott hates being in his human form. Isaac immediately puts three different scarves on, and Scott puts on a pair of shorts and a shirt that Stiles was almost positive he'd lost a year ago. Once he's seated, a ferret winds its way around Scott's neck, and a mouse crawls across his lap happily to the piece of cheese he's been trying to create from his goat's milk. (Stiles just thinks the cheese smells, but according to Scott's mother, they sell really well at the farmer's market.)

Lydia and Jackson fly in to the cave next, Lydia choosing her own outfit, _thank you very much, Stiles_ , and Jackson glaring at Derek and Boyd, who in turn ignore him. Jackson sits next to Lydia and takes out a small mirror to check his reflection.

Allison's last, and she just slips on a dress before bringing an arrow out of who knows where and resting it against her side. It's not a threat, really, more of a reassuring motion for the dragon, but the werewolves go tense at the sight, shoulders tight and teeth bared.

"Calm down, boys. Allison hoards arrows," Lydia says, splaying out her hands to see the rings and golden bracelets that adorned her fingers and wrists.

"I thought... I thought dragons were meant to hoard treasure," Derek replies, looking to her jewels pointedly.

"Stereotype. Well, for the most part," Lydia replies. "I happen to like gold and jewels. Jackson hoards mirrors, Isaac hoards scarves, Scott hoards animals, and Erica hoards pillows."

"Wait, pillows? Really?" Derek asks in disbelief.

Erica pulls a pillow out of nowhere and hugs it to her chest. "What? I like pillows. Do you have a problem with that?" she asks, her fingers turning to claws as she clutches the pillow.

"No, no problem."

Boyd rolls his eyes at his friend and offers Erica a smile. She looks him over once, then smiles back at him with a few too many teeth, and pats the seat beside her. Boyd doesn't even hesitate, and John tries not to look surprised at that sudden and unexpected development.

"What does Stiles hoard then?" Derek asks Lydia, since she seems to be answering his questions.

"We don't know," she replies with a shrug.

"I still don't even think he has a hoard," Jackson adds, using his mirror to reflect the fire's light towards Stiles' face.

Stiles puts a claw on Jackson's head and messes up his hair.

"Stiles says he has a hoard, so he has a hoard. Leave him alone," Allison mutters, smacking Jackson's arm.

"They really don't know, son?" John asks in surprise.

"I ... I can't."

John frowns, then blinks as realisation dawns on him. "Of course. Of course you can't. Do you want me to tell them?"

Stiles looks from his friends' curious looks to Derek, who's been watching him all of this time, and he shrugs. "I want the curly fries first."

"I thought you hoarded curly fries for a while there," Scott admits with a grin, his mouse crawling across his fingers nimbly.

"I thought you did too," Erica admits.

"Curly fries are awesome, but no," Stiles mutters.

Derek opens his bag and pulls out a paper bag full to the brim of curly fries. He moves closer to Stiles slowly and offers the bag.

"I'm not going to eat them out of your hand, Derek. Depth perception is difficult with this many teeth at the front and then my eyes all the way back here, y'know," Stiles points out.

"Oh, right," Derek says, setting the bag down in front of Stiles and ignoring Lydia's snort of amusement.

Stiles grabs the bag, tilts his head to the side, and tips all of the curly fries in at once. The sound he makes has the whole cave reverberating.

"I really could've done without knowing what your sex noises sound like, Stiles," Jackson calls, finally finished fixing his hair.

"Do you _really_ want to bring up sex noises, Jackson?" Stiles asks, licking at his claws daintily.

Jackson pales slightly and promptly shuts up, though the others look at him curiously.

"Now can we know what you're hoarding, Stiles?" Isaac asks, looking between Stiles and his father.

John looks over to Stiles once more. Stiles nods briefly and looks away, resting his head on his claws.

"Stiles hoards secrets."

" _What?_ "

John seems surprised at the emotions displayed by the six dragons and two werewolves - mostly wariness - but Stiles simply turns away entirely, as if he'd expected nothing less.

"He hoards secrets. So anything that anyone tells him in confidence - or not even then - he hoards and keeps to himself. Stiles doesn't share anything, and secrets are sacred. Lydia, you wouldn't share your jewels, would you? Jackson, how about your mirrors? Isaac, I know for a fact that you don't share your scarves, even when it's the middle of winter and some people above the age of 50 are cold. Allison, you'd probably bite someone's hand off if they tried to go near your arrows. Scott, you don't share your animals either, not even with Isaac and Allison. And Erica, you wouldn't let your own mother sit on one of your pillows when she visited."

"She should have brought her own."

"She did; you stole it," Lydia points out.

"I claimed it; there's a difference!"

"The point is," John says, redirecting the conversation back to where it should be, "Stiles doesn't deserve mistrust because he hoards secrets. In fact, he's probably the best person to entrust your secrets to, because he can never tell them."

"Whoa, that does **not** mean I want to hear all of your dirty little secrets! I get enough from the offhand gossip I hear at breakfast every week, thank you very much," Stiles interjects, seeing a calculating expression in Lydia's gaze.

"So where do you keep your hoard, then? Written down somewhere, or in your head?" Lydia asks curiously.

"In my head. Until anything in here," he says, tapping his temple, "becomes common knowledge, it's not getting out."

"Now that we know you hoard secrets, does that mean you can tell us you hoard secrets?" Isaac asks, frowning into one of his scarves.

"I can tell everyone in this cave, but no one else knows."

Allison regards Stiles for a moment, her arrow tapping at her thigh. "How did you know you hoarded secrets? Why not words, or ideas, or anything else?"

"How did you know you hoarded arrows?" Stiles replies.

She shrugs briefly. "I just... saw the arrow and knew I needed it, needed _more_."

"That was the same with me," Stiles says, his words careful and his original very _first_ secret hoarded close.

Allison could understand that; her first arrow wasn't buried under a mountain of arrows like the rest (though she knew exactly where she'd found or been given each arrow just on sight). Her very first arrow was resting on a stand, near enough to her resting place in her cave so that she could see it and fall asleep with the knowledge it was nearby. Jackson was the same with his first mirror, and Lydia with her first bracelet, and Scott with his first iguana, and Isaac with his first scarf, and Erica with her first pillow.

"I'm glad you have a hoard, Stiles," Scott says, sighing a smoke ring in relief.

Beside him, Isaac grins and adds his own smoke ring. "Same."

"Yeah, it's great that you're not going to die," Jackson says.

"You can die if you don't have a hoard?" Derek asks, eyes wide.

"Imagine what it feels like not having a pack, then multiply that by a dragon's lifetime," Stiles replies, shrugging.

Derek and Boyd both shudder at the thought.

"So, son, you never told me how you hurt your tail in the first place," John says, looking to his almost-healed tail.

Stiles looks from his tail to his father, then glances at Derek as he places his head back down on his claws. "It's a secret."

...

By the time the next month finishes and the full moon is rising, everyone in town knows that Stiles and Derek are dating, as are Boyd and the town's newcomer, Erica. Erica still grins a little too sharply, and people's pillows tend to go missing, but Boyd doesn't seem to mind having to replace the stolen pillows for the villagers.

Stiles settles into his camouflage, spreads his wings and glides out of his cave and towards the forest where Derek's waiting with the rest of the werewolves for tonight's run. This time, instead of clinging to trees, Stiles descends into the clearing.

Scott, Isaac, and Allison are waiting to the side, talking with Laura and Malia about knitting patterns and marksmanship. Boyd's sitting beside Frank, Erica resting on a closely-guarded pillow as she talked with Talia. Jackson was talking with Ethan and Aiden about hair products, and nearby, Lydia was discussing the properties of gold and sunken ships with Danny. He was a water dragon, visiting from Hawaii at Stiles' invitation; he hoarded sunken wreckages, and his family owned the whole of the Bermuda Triangle. Derek had almost been beside himself when he found out that a water dragon was visiting, and spent most of the night talking Danny's ear off about mermaids and how different water currents brought different mythical creatures. Danny was eager to answer any and all of Derek's questions, though Stiles noticed that his gaze ended up on Ethan more often than not. He doubted that Danny would end up alone tonight.

Stiles just hoped he could answer all of his boyfriend's numerous questions about dragons eventually, even if he did it in his own roundabout way.

Derek grins at Stiles, wrapping an arm around his waist. "You ready?" he asks, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Stiles turns to kiss him on the lips firmly, then they both turn to watch as Talia tilts her head back and howls before leaping into the trees to start the run. In a flash, all of Stiles' friends are in their dragon forms, camouflaged, and flying after Talia's trail below. The werewolves aren't far behind, and Stiles can hear Danny's laugh as he jumps into a stream to start a chase of his own.

Derek tightens his hold on Stiles briefly before he can fly up into the air after the others. "I've got a secret to tell you," Derek whispers, voice so soft that no one else will hear them.

Stiles turns to face him, curious and at the same time, barely holding on to his need to know the secret _right now_.

"I love you."

Stiles stores that secret away, keeping it inside of him with the rest of his hoard, and he kisses Derek firmly. "I love you, too."

"That's my secret to keep, now," Derek says with a broad smile.

One day, Stiles might tell Derek just how much he loves him, but for now, it's his little secret.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it!

A/N: This account is where all my new stories will be published, but if you're looking for WIPs, they're in my main FFNet account, which is linked in my profile.


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